near his host, who was saying behind his cigar to another old fellow: "I
used to know her mother; she was rather original too; but nothing to this
girl. I don't envy Mrs. Rock her job."

"I don't know what the pay of a chaperon is, but I suppose Hernshaw can
make it worth her while, if he's like the rest out there," said the other
old fellow. "I imagine he's somewhere in his millions."

The host held up one of his fingers. "Is that all? I thought more.
Mines?"

"Cattle. Ah, Mr. Hewson," said the host, turning to welcome him to the
chair on his other side. "Have a cigar. That was a strong story you gave
us. It had a good fault, though. It was too short."




IX.


Hewson had begun now to feel a keen, persistent, painful sympathy for the
apparition itself as for some one whose confidence had been abused; and
this feeling was none the less, but all the more, poignant because it was
he himself who was guilty towards it. He pitied it in a sort as if it had
been the victim of a wrong more shocking perhaps for the want of taste in
it than for any real turpitude. This was a quality of the event not
without a strange consolation. In arraying him on the side of the
apparition, it antagonized him with what he had done, and enabled him to
renounce and disown it.